


I'll Burn The World (All For You)

by AnotherWriterWhoWrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Character Death, Dead Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, End of the World, F/M, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester on Demon Blood, Young Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:20:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWriterWhoWrites/pseuds/AnotherWriterWhoWrites
Summary: On November 2nd, 1983 the fire claimed both Mary and Dean, leaving John to raise Sam on his own in a very dangerous and cold world, that gets worse with each passing year. After Sam is left alone years later, his father having died from trying to avenge their family, he learns more truths, more secrets are uncovered, and the harder it is for Sam to remain on the side of good.Sam was no stranger to doing the right thing, sacrificing himself and his wants in order to get the job done. But even in the end, all men have a limit and Sam finds himself starting to skirt the edge more and more with dangerous consequences for him and everyone else in the world.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, John Winchester & Sam Winchester, Ruby/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42
Collections: Sam Winchester Big Bang 2019-20





	I'll Burn The World (All For You)

“Take your brother outside as fast as you can, don’t look back.” John said, his voice steady despite the fear and the panic that he felt rising within him. “Now Dean, go!”

Dean didn’t waste another moment, holding onto his brother as tight as he could as he rushed down the stairs and out of the house, his bare feet hitting the cold porch and then the wet grass. Turning back to the door he coughed and held onto Sammy tightly, waiting and praying for their mommy and daddy to come outside as well.

When neither of them appeared, he hesitated and then placed Sammy on the grass, taking a moment to make sure that the blanket was still covering him.

“I’ll be right back Sammy,” he promised, bending down to kiss Sammy's forehead before he turned and ran back into the house where the smoke continued to fill the air, ducking under the flying ash and reaching flames.

John came out barely seconds later, coughing and eyes watering from the smoke and fire that seemed impossible to see through. He spotted Sammy on the ground, still waddled up, and moved to him instinctively. He felt his heart stop and his eyes widened when he realized that Sammy was the only one there. He whirled around, staring up at the house as if he’d see Dean materialize from inside at any moment.

"Dean!" He shouted, almost screaming, his voice getting lost in the sound of fire and the house being broken from the inside. "DEAN!"

But the fire reached a crescendo and he could hear the inside of the house exploding, could feel the very ground shaking in response. The force pushed him back, stumbling and barely able to keep standing. Sammy started to wail once more and John immediately grabbed his youngest son and held him close, still turning around helplessly as he waited vainly for Dean.

His eyes went back to the house and he held onto Sammy tightly, looking down at his son as he desperately tried to figure out what to do. There was no other place for Dean to go, only back into the house in the hopes of...Of what? Finding either one of them? Had he seen Mary on the ceiling and wanted to go back to try to save her?

Where had his son gone? John choked for breath and it had nothing to do with the smoke. When he felt someone grabbing him and pulling him away from the house, forcing him to sit down in the back of an ambulance, he didn't bother to fight them, didn’t even try, letting them move him as they wished.

What was the point of fighting anyway? His wife had been burned before he could do anything and his son? His precious baby Dean? His and Mary's first born?

It wasn’t until later, after the paramedics had examined him and Sammy, that a firefighter had come up to him with the utmost sympathy on his face as he gently explained how there had been nothing left of his wife.

And that they had managed to find the charred remains of bones that looked like it belonged to a child.

John listened to them as if he was detached from his body. Sammy had stopped crying and was just sitting in his lap, looking around, as if trying to find his brother or his mama again, but ultimately remaining mercifully quiet.

All John could hope was that if Dean had gone back into the house for whatever reason, then everything had been quick and he hadn't felt any pain in his last moments.

The car had been parked outside and, therefore, had been safe from the fire. John sat on the hood of the Impala, refusing to loosen his hold on Sammy even for a second, as the images flashed through his mind, even though he desperately tried not to think of whether or not he had seen Dean in the house just as he had ran out of it.

It had all happened so fast that he wasn't sure of anything anymore. He had just gone to sleep and then everything...everything had changed. Within seconds, their lives had been ruined; within seconds, both Mary and Dean were gone, dead in one of the worst possible ways that a person could die.

God, how he hoped, how he _prayed_ it had been fast. Please, if there was a God up there, give him that little mercy. Give him that little bit of peace to know that it had been fast and painless, that neither of them had suffered. Please God-

No. There was no god up there. Looking down at his son, his alive, only remaining son, John felt that knowledge solidify in his chest. He tugged the blanket closer around Sammy and just held onto him.

He had known it for a long time, that there was no god up there, no one watching over them and keeping them safe. He had known that in Vietnam when he held onto teenage boys, not even old enough to legally drink, bleeding out in his arms while they whimpered and pleaded for their mamas.

Mary had wanted to believe, wanted to believe in angels and god and everything else in between and John had played along. They had gotten Dean baptized, and they had been planning to do the same with Sammy in just a few short weeks.

But knowing what he had seen, his wife pinned against the ceiling, torn apart, bleeding and burned alive. His son, his little boy, dead because of it, because he had wanted to help them and ran back into the house to do so- he knew the truth.

There was no god up there watching and if there was, he was a sick son of a bitch that let innocent people get hurt for no reason.

He was barely able to keep himself from throwing up at the thought, gripping onto Sammy to steady himself and to have something to ground him so that he didn't just fall apart.

Aimlessly he reached out and pulled the small blanket around Sammy a bit more, holding him close. He licked his thumb and wiped the stains of blood from Sammy’s forehead. _Mary’s blood,_ a corner of his mind told him, and he just stroked at his son’s forehead, his only remaining son, before he brought him up to his chest and just sobbed.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed where they were. The paramedics were still there, the firefighters were still there. Most of their neighbors who had come out in the middle of the night to watch had gone back home, none of them saying a word to him. Or if they had, John had paid no attention to them.

One paramedic tried to take Sammy away from him, words coming through a fog, saying that he wanted to check the baby over. John had almost punched him as hard as he could in the face. Nothing was going to take Sammy away from him, not even someone who claimed to want to help.

He couldn't trust anyone else in this world anymore; they were all monsters to him now. They were all in the way of keeping his son safe. Ignoring the rest of them, John just held onto his son and refused to let anyone else touch him, even going so far as tugging the blanket up to cover him as much as he could. He didn't want people to even be able to look at him.

Sammy was all that he had left of Mary, of their life, of their family. He'd be damned if he let anything else happen to him; so long as he breathed he was going to keep him safe.

No matter what he had to sacrifice to do so. He was okay with that, sacrifices needed to be made at times and this was one of them.

Sometimes doing what was right was the hardest, but he was damned sure ready for it.

* * *

Sam turned to look out the window, hands on the top of the seats as he watched Bobby's house disappear. The man waved when he saw him and Sam waved back. He kept watching until the house disappeared and then slowly slid back down onto his seat, head bowed slightly. He stared at the ground, chewing on the inside of his cheek before he finally managed to speak.

"Dad, why can't we stay at Bobby’s?" he asked quietly, not sure if John was going to hear him over the roar of the impala's engine. He liked it there, he liked the mess of books all around and the dog that Bobby had recently adopted. He had seen a school in town and a group of kids around his age there; maybe they could've been his friends if they had stayed.

"Because Bobby and I...we just can't, Sam," John said, his voice a little gruff, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "It's hard to explain."

"Is it because of me?" Sam asked, kicking his feet slightly, watching small scuff stains appear on the back of the driver's seat. He felt a bit of guilt at that and leaned forward to wipe at it with his sleeve, sitting back when he was done.

John hesitated before speaking. "Bobby doesn't think that you should be hunting. He thinks you're too young."

Sam looked up at that, meeting his dad’s eyes in the mirror for a moment. "But I'm eight years old," he protested. "I'm not a kid."

"And he thinks that that's too young, Sam." John sighed and then drove the car to the side of the highway, parking there for a moment. He patted the passenger's seat. "Come up here."

Sam scurried up and twisted so that he could land on the passenger's seat with a small huff, looking up at his dad.

John turned to look at him properly. “Sam, you’re eight years old, and I know I’ve been teaching you to fight and how to shoot a gun," he said, rubbing at his eyes and looking very tired at that moment. "But Bobby is right, you are too young.”

Sam moved to bring his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “So why are you teaching me?”

John took a deep breath. “When you were six months old, your mom and brother died in a fire.”

Sam nodded, he knew that story, his dad had told him before. He had heard him talk about it mostly at night when he thought Sam was asleep and not listening from around the corner. The fire, mom, Dean, everything that had made them leave Lawrence and always kept them on the move.

“But the truth is, something else was in there,” John continued, seeing Sam's eyes widen at that. “Something… _supernatural_ was in your room and the result killed your mom and brother. It's not because of you,” he quickly added, seeing the tears that were starting to gather in Sam’s eyes. “But that’s where it happened and you know what happened because of it.”

"Supernatural?" Sam whispered, feeling his voice give a small hitch. He tried to be grown up and not start crying but despite his attempts, he could feel a hint of tears in his eyes.

John nodded, looking more grave than he had in a very long time. "Supernatural," he repeated quietly. "There are a lot more things out there than we knew about Sammy, there are...there are monsters out there and Bobby and I hunt them. We stop them from hurting people and we save a lot of people doing so."

“What...what was it?” Sam whispered, feeling his entire body shaking. "That got mom and Dean?"

“I don’t know yet, all I know is that it was supernatural,” John told him. “All I know is that I need to keep you safe no matter what.”

Sam brought his hand up to roughly wipe at his eyes. “Keep me safe?”

John nodded and reached out to gently wipe at Sam’s tears, cleaning his face. “And the best way that I know to keep you safe is like this: _teach_ you how to be safe. Teach you how to hunt and how to fight back before they throw the first punch.”

He reached out and picked Sam up, wrapping his arms around him. Sam held onto his dad's shirt tightly and buried his face in his chest.

"The world is not a safe place anymore Sam, I wish it was with everything I have but it’s not,” John told him, his voice steady and clear. “The world is a bad and a dark place and I wish I could tell you this later when you’re more grown up but it's time now. The world is bad and there’s a lot more bad out there than you can ever know.”

John took a deep breath, his voice low for a moment, not sure if he was talking to himself or to Sam anymore. “You have to do anything to do the right thing, after all that's happened you need to be prepared for everything and be willing to do it all. Willing to do every last thing that needs to be done, that can be done and then more," he cupped his hand around Sam’s cheek and moved him up enough for them to look each other in the eyes. “Do you understand?”

Sam chewed on his lip and slowly nodded, eyes wide as he clung to John’s shirt more. “I think I do.”

John nodded as well and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “Good, I don’t want you to ever forget that.”

* * *

Sam was curled up on the floor against the wall, his eyes glued to his dad as the older man slowly breathed. He could barely breathe himself and he had to try to force himself to take a deep breath. And then a second and a third one. Bit by bit he pulled himself out of the small panic that had settled inside of him the moment John had come back.

His eyes pulled away from his dad for a moment to look at the textbooks that were on the ground. They had been on the bed with him just twenty minutes ago as he had been reading them before John had come back.

Four hours ago John had been alright and arguing with Sam. He had a chemistry test tomorrow and he was five chapters behind. It wasn’t his fault his last school had taken things slower than his current one. He had planned on using the night to catch up and hopefully at least pass the test if not get a good enough of a grade on it.

The argument with his dad was fresh in his mind as well. John had figured out that the monster they were after was a werewolf, simple and easy to kill, a silver bullet to the heart. His dad had wanted him to go with him; he needed the practice and he needed to put his training to use.

But he had a chemistry test he wanted to study for, he had a club meeting that he might go to tomorrow after class, there was a cute girl in his history class that maybe, just _maybe_ he could ask out for lunch or something after school.

Anything to feel like he was a normal person with a normal life and normal desires and things to worry about, even for just a day.

John hadn’t even bothered to argue, he just turned to grab his weapons and leave, obviously not wanting to fight with his son.

Sam had spent the next three and a half hours on his bed-the one closest to the door- with his textbook and an open notebook, taking notes and writing things down as best as he could understand them. He didn’t think about his dad during that time, more than confident in his dad’s abilities to hunt things.

What he had never expected was his dad to come stumbling back inside, hand to his chest, bleeding so much, more than any wound that Sam had ever seen before. John’s hand seemed to be the only thing keeping his organs inside of him.

Sam had frozen for a second, one precious second, and then jumped up, running to their bag to rip the first aid kit from there

From there it was all a blur. Immediately throwing the sheets and everything on them to the ground so that John could collapse on the bed and Sam could help.

He could remember cutting up John’s shirt and pulling his dad's hands away, barely able to hold back from throwing up at the sight of blood and skin and everything else that was starting to poke out.

He had to swallow down bile and force his hands to properly pull the string through the needle hole and then push it through his dad's skin, closing him up and making sure he didn’t die right there on the bed in front of him.

Dad had gotten hurt on the hunt that Sam had refused to go on, because he had chosen to study, chosen to be away from his father on a dangerous hunt for a dangerous monster that killed more people than they’ve saved.

His dad had gotten hurt on a hunt that Sam had chosen not to go to and had barely come back alive to get stitched up, clinging to life with most likely everything he had. It was most likely that the only thing that had helped him was the thought of Sam still waiting for him to get back.

What could have been his last words to his father were echoing in his ears over and over again.

“Why the hell do you have to be so selfish? Why can’t you just let me be normal for a change?” He had demanded, watching the hurt pass over his dad’s face.

But in the end, he had been the selfish one, he was the one only thinking about himself and never about the bigger picture, he was the one never thinking about what needed to be done and only about what he wanted at that moment.

He had chosen selfishly and for that he had come too damn close to losing the only family member he had left.

_You have to do anything to do the right thing, after all that’s happened, you need to be prepared for everything and be willing to do it all. Willing to do every last thing that needs to be done, that can be done, and then more._

Slowly Sam stood, his legs shaking for a moment and his hands caked with dried blood. He glanced down and his hands were surprisingly steady as he looked at the red staining his fingers and palms down to his wrists. He curled them into fists and looked back up, slowly going to his backpack.

Digging into it for a moment, he pulled out a small pile of application forms, stared at them for a moment.

**_College Application Form_** was written on the top of it. He reread it a few times, looking down at the questions he had started to answer, the pen smudging slightly from being shoved into his backpack.

_Please fill out the application and the accompanying essay describing something that changed-_

He ripped the application in half and then into quarters, going straight to the trashcan and throwing them in there along with bloodstained napkins and the remains of a broken knife that can’t be used for anything else.

He took a deep breath, going to the sink to wash his hands, scrubbing hard at the bloodstains to try to get them off. He scrubbed for what seemed like hours but could only be minutes and once he was done, he started to clean the stains around the room as well, not wanting to leave it for the maid to find.

Once he was done with that, he started to pack everything else in the room, leaving his textbooks and notebooks on the corner of the table to be left behind when they were going hit the road come morning. It freed up space in his bags and in the trunk of the impala as well.

He wasn’t going to be selfish anymore.

* * *

Sam stared at the fire, unseeing, as he sat on the ground, leaning back against the grill of the Impala.

Azazel was finally dead; the thing that had killed his mother and brother was dead. But... At a great cost.

Hell’s gate had been opened and god knew how many demons had been released.

Nothing had gone how it was supposed to. They had managed to find the demon, track it down, and they had the opportunity to finally kill it once and for all. They’d even managed to get a weapon, a colt- _the Colt_ \- that had bullets that could kill him.

But it all went wrong. The demon escaped, a bullet was wasted and, worst of all, and the demons orchestrated a car accident that left Sam in a coma.

That led his dad, desperate and not wanting to bury the last member of his family and especially not his only remaining son, to go to that very same demon to make a deal to bring Sam back to life.

And that had damned his soul to Hell almost immediately afterwards and had led to the Colt getting into the hands of the demon. John had been given just enough time to see Sam, to make sure that he was alright before being taken to Hell.

The doctors had ruled it as a sudden and quick heart attack but deep in his bones, Sam precisely what had happened to his dad. The sulfur in the air had only confirmed it.

He'd rather have died right then and there than find out that his dad was in Hell because of him and that there was nothing that he could do about it. The indisputable knowledge made him want to throw up.

Or, at the very least, try to go to Hell himself to try his best to save his dad.

He knew where he was going to burn his dad’s body, at least. Maybe not in the _exact_ place he wanted to, but it was the thought that counted.

It was a long drive but finally, he reached Lawrence and parked in an abandoned field where he burned his dad’s body.

He might’ve tried to gather ashes and bring it to his mom and brother’s graves, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. That empty feeling inside of him stopped him from doing anything other than stare at the fire as it rose and then died out.

He hadn’t cried; he was too drained and too... Settled. Maybe that was the word. He didn’t know what to call what he was feeling at this point.

Maybe empty was the right word. It certainly seemed appropriate enough.

It took another few months for him to recover and find Azazel once more. Or, more accurately, Sam had been kidnapped by the demon and forced to fight for his life with the other kids whose lives Azazel had destroyed.

Sam had managed to win, but barely. Ultimately it had come down to him or another kid named Jake. He had hesitated for a moment, not wanting to kill a kid that had been used just like him but, he had a job to do and that meant doing something he didn't want to, but ultimately had to.

He couldn't be selfish. He was going to do his job, no matter what.

So he killed Jake and got out of the decrepit town. He had managed to get a split second of seeing Bobby and Ellen before he was whisked away again, to another cemetery where Azazel had been waiting for him.

He hated it but ultimately, Azazel tricked him. Tricked him into opening the gates of Hell. Tricked him into unleashing hundreds, if not thousands, of demons into the world.

But there was a small silver lining: his dad had managed to escape Hell along with the demons and helped Sam one last time. He held Azazel in place, prevented him from smoking out or even moving, just long enough for Sam to grab the Colt once more and shoot a bullet straight into Azazel's skull.

At the end of the... Night? Day? Battle? He managed to somehow close the Hell’s gate, stopping anymore demons from coming through, but the damage had been done. He had ignored Bobby and Ellen once it was all over and just forced himself into the Impala and drove, ignoring everything else around him. Ignoring how his cell phone was ringing. He refused to even turn the radio on to hear what the demons had already done.

He drove until he hit Lawrence and kept going until he reached the cemetery. It took more strength than he’d known he had. He was just so damn tired that he wanted nothing more than to curl up in the backseat and go to sleep and ignore everything else around him. Wait for the demons to destroy the world and take him with it.

Ultimately, after rummaging around for something in the glove compartment, he eventually got out of the car, stumbling and falling slightly as he moved to a pair of tombstones. There was nothing there but two empty coffins buried in the ground but it was all they had.

Staring at his mother and brother’s gravestones, Sam felt something crack inside of him and he fell to his knees, head bowed.

He still didn't cry, he didn't have it in him anymore to cry, wasn't sure if he actually could, to be honest. Maybe that had been taken from him like everything else had been.

He looked down at his hand, fingers curled around his dad’s dog tags, the only thing he had kept other than his journal. His thumb stroked over the slightly faded lettering, and then he started to dig a hole right between the grave markers, wanting to make it deep enough that it wouldn't be disturbed.

He carefully placed the dog tags in the hole and tightly packed the dirt back, pressing down on it. He didn't have any other way to bring his dad to the rest of the family and could only hope that his soul had managed to escape completely and go to be in Heaven with mom and Dean.

He didn't say anything; there was nothing that could be said. He could mention that they were avenged; he could talk about something, anything.

But he couldn't find the right words and mostly he couldn't make himself talk. He just stared at their names, wanting to reach up to touch it, but he couldn't even bring himself to do that.

More than anything, deep down and not even allowed to be said out loud, he wanted nothing more than to just join them in the dirt and ground and ashes. He was just so tired.

Looking around himself, he got up to his feet, unsteady and stumbling for a moment. He reached out to place his hand on the Impala’s side to balance himself.

Slowly he got into the car and stared into the middle distance, before he started the car and hit the road.

He’d never felt more alone in his life.

* * *

There were more demons than anyone knew how to deal with and the body count was starting to rise higher and higher each day.

Sam stared at the motel wall from his place on the floor, leaning against the bed. His eyes followed the lines he’d made with string, connecting articles and pictures and information.

He reached into the first aid kit beside him without looking away from the wall, taking the bandages out and using his teeth to rip it apart to slowly wrap around his stomach. He poured some whiskey over it as well before he completely wrapped it tightly.

He let the rest of the bandages fall to the ground somewhere between him and the kit, not really caring at the moment.

It had been... A rough month ever since they’d killed Azazel and he’d burned his father. An entire month during which he ignored Bobby’s and Ellen’s phone calls, only texting with Ash for information about where to go next.

He ignored every other text that Ash sent him, asking about how he was and telling him to text the others. It wasn't important.

The entire month, he felt almost... Like there was something crawling under his skin. Every demon he met would almost… Hesitate- there was no other word to describe it. They would see him, know who he was, and hesitate.

He only really got an answer, or whatever it could be considered, when he had faced Pride and two other sins. Pride had stared at him in contempt and scorn, calling him something that might’ve helped him figure it out.

_Boy King._ Pride had called him Boy King and suggested that he was supposed to be following Sam, something about what Azazel had wanted for him.

Azazel had hinted at it at Cold Oak, that someone would be left alive for something _great_. Someone for a position of Azazel’s choosing.

Azazel had wanted that gate open, had wanted all those demons free. He had had a plan and that meant he had planned for two things: one person to be left in his little competition and the gate being open.

Sam was the only one left from Azazel’s games, so technically, that meant he was the winner. If it could be called that.

But despite it all, Sam couldn’t really think about Azazel, couldn’t think about the gate or what _Boy King_ meant- what any of it meant.

His mind really wasn’t on the demons for the first time. Instead, his thoughts were completely on a woman he had met during the last attack. When they had been fighting the seven deadly sins and, in all honesty, he was about to be killed, a woman came in and saved him.

She had called herself Ruby and, most importantly, she had a knife that could kill a demon.

* * *

He could feel Ruby stretching beside him on the bed and she turned towards him, smiling.

“Hey,” she said softly, curling a bit more into the pillow. “Do you have to do that in bed?”

She was referring to the blade he was slowly cleaning of bloodstains and he placed it on the nightstand along with the bottle of oil.

Ruby moved closer to him, reaching out to slide her hand over his chest until it pressed against his heart. “Couldn’t sleep?” She asked.

Sam shook his head, his hand coming up to grip hers, entwining their fingers together.

“The usual nightmare?” she asked, moving to put her head on his shoulder, the faint whiff of sulfur following her.

Sam hesitated and then shook his head again. “No,” he said. Ruby was referring to the nightmares he often had about his dad. Dying at Azazel's hand and Sam being unable to do anything.

Ruby squeezed at his hand. “Then which one?”

Sam worked his jaw for a moment. “My brother,” he said shortly, not wanting to talk to anyone about this. His brother was a topic he never spoke of, just like his mother. They were both something sacred, not something to talk lightly about.

Ruby blinked at that, tilting her head. “You never talk about him,” she said, her voice still light. She moved close enough to press against him, her chin on his shoulder.

“And I’m not going to,” Sam told her, turning his head to look at her. “He’s off limits.”

Ruby looked like she was going to protest for a moment before she nodded. “Alright.”

Sam nodded and leaned back against the headboard, still holding onto her. He was about to say something when his stomach growl.

Ruby smiled at the sound and her voice took an almost teasing tone. “You want something to drink?”

Sam rolled his eyes and reached out to grab their knife. The only demon killing knife they had.

He gripped it and turned to Ruby who was laying back down on the bed, smiling up at him.

He kept her gaze easily as he brought the knife up, trailing the edge over the skin of her bare stomach. A small sigh escaped her as her skin erupted in goosebumps and her back arched slightly towards the touch.

“Sam,” she whispered her voice longing.

He stopped moving the knife once he reached her collarbone and, carefully, he made a cut. He pulled the knife back and watched the blood well up before he leaned in and wrapped his lips around it, teeth digging into it as he drank deeply.

Ruby's other hand came up to wrap around the back of his head, pressing his mouth deeper into the cut, pushing up more into him.

“There we go, Sammy,” she whispered. “Drink up.”

* * *

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the taste of demon blood. Or any blood, per se.

He just liked the power that it gave him with each mouthful.

Ruby was more than a willing donor, encouraging him not only to drink her blood but also to use the powers he had ignored ever since Azazel had kidnapped him.

She helped him focus, helped him learn how to really reach deep inside of him and grab a hold of that darkness he tried to ignore and just... Learn how to use it without letting it consume him.

And when she started to bring demons to him to learn how to exorcize without hurting the vessel? That was just the cherry on top.

It was intoxicating. It got him to a point that he could walk into a room filled with demons and with a single thought force all of them to leave their vessels and return to hell.

He still ignored everyone’s calls. He had no desire to let them know what he was doing. He just texted back so they’d know he was alive and even that was more than he wanted to do.

Every time he thought about it, about the actual fact that he was drinking demon blood, it made his stomach churn. The idea that he was working so closely with a demon, that she was in his bed more often than not, was also something that he wasn’t one hundred percent on board with.

But sacrifices were to be made.

He just never expected for demon blood to act like a drug.

Until he found himself clutching the toilet as he threw up, until he found himself going through withdrawal symptoms, complete with seizures, gasping for air and scrambling for some sort of purchase on the ground, almost praying for death.

He learned pretty quickly not to go too long between drinking demon blood.

So when Ruby came back and he was a bit rougher, grabbing her and holding her hard enough for bruises to form, practically biting at her skin to get to the blood and disregarding the knife completely?

Well... That was just something he chose not to think about.

* * *

The entrance to Hell was covered with brimstone, sulfur, and blood.

Sam resisted the urge to cough as he stared down the staircase. He couldn’t really see an end to it; whatever light they had couldn’t reach it.

His entire body was almost throbbing from the amount of demon blood he had ingested in the past hour. None of it was Ruby's; his appetite had gone too far for her to be able to satisfy him on her own. So she had brought a demon to him and he had drained it completely, drinking every last drop.

This was something he’d wanted to do ever since he realized he had power over demons and that his dad was likely still trapped there.

He was going to storm Hell and find his dad's soul and free him.

His lips twitched upwards in an almost-smile at the thought. He was here, he was finally here. He was strong enough to be able to go down and make sure that no demon, regardless of ranking, would be able to stop him and he was going to finally find his dad again.

He was sure that John wouldn’t believe that it was him, he was sure that Hell had its ways to make people think other things, but that didn't matter. He was going to take his dad out of Hell forcefully if necessary and then he'd be free and after that...

Well, Sam didn't really have an idea for what was going to happen after that. Most likely he would still hunt, there were still lots of monsters out there that needed to be killed and people that needed to be saved.

But maybe at the same time...maybe he could do something else as well. He could do online classes for... For something. He did get his high school diploma so maybe... Maybe he could do a college-esque type thing.

A small smile appeared on his face as he started down the stairs into Hell, unsure if Ruby was following him. Whether she was or she wasn't, it didn't matter. He was full of demon blood and he had her knife on his belt at the ready. He was prepared for anything that Hell was going to throw at him.

He wasn't sure how long he walked. Time passed differently in Hell so he didn't even bother to keep track or look at his watch. Some demons got in his way and with a thought they were killed, some disappeared or, if they had a vessel, the body dropped to the ground.

Sam stepped over them and continued walking, intent on finding his father.

Maybe it was his imagination but it almost felt like the ground under his feet was shifting.

It didn't matter, it wasn't important.

He needed to just find his dad and get him out of here.

After what seemed like an eternity, walking past countless rooms that contained souls, Sam stopped in front of one, an itching sensation crawling under his skin and slowly stepped into it, senses alert as he walked towards the cage in front of him, breath catching in his throat.

Because chained down, forced to kneel and head bowed, was his dad.

"Dad." The whisper escaped him as he hurried forward. With each step he took another chain broke and cracked until they were lying in broken pieces around him. Even the cage broke and was tore away until he was freed.

John slowly looked up, a guarded look in his eyes even as he looked at his youngest. He didn't say anything as Sam came to his side, kneeling in front of him so they could look each other in the eye easily.

"Dad," Sam whispered, a smile breaking across his face despite everything. He reached out to gently touch John's shoulder and-

He was suddenly thrown back, head cracking against the ground as John tackled him. Blood filled his mouth and he gagged, trying to clear his throat and get his vision to stop swimming. Before he could say anything, a pair of hands wrapped around his throat tightly, cutting off whatever air he had managed to draw in.

"I thought I told you bastards that this trick won't work on me anymore,” John hissed at him. When Sam tried to speak he just tightened his grip further, causing black spots to appear in his vision. "You keep me from my family and you try this crap with me again?"

The words struck him hard enough to give him clarity. Sam thrust his hand forward, shoving John off of him and forcing him to let go of his throat. Coughing hard Sam sat up, rubbing at his throat. He could already feel the bruises forming and it hurt to swallow but he ignored it as he looked at his dad. John, for his part, didn't rush him again but he didn't look any less convinced that it was Sam.

"What do you mean?" Sam rasped out, pausing to cough and gag once more as he tried to speak. "What do you mean _keep you from your family_?"

A small flash of something skidded over John's face before it disappeared. "You know damn well what I'm talking about."

Sam slowly stood up, not taking his eyes off of his dad. "Dad, it's me, it's really Sam," he said slowly. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Mary and Dean,” John spat at him. "I'm talking about the fact that you dangle them in front of me, or me in front of them, and then refuse to let…" He gave a shudder, his voice cracking. "You've no right, he's just a child. He's just a child."

Sam swallowed hard, digging his nails into his palm as he walked towards his father again."Dad. What is it about mom and Dean?" He asked a miracle his voice wasn't shaking.

John just stared at him, pain filling his eyes. "Mary's gone, she managed to...I don't know how. But Hell forced her out. But Dean..." His voice hitched and a look passed over that Sam had never seen on his dad's face; the face of a broken man. "Just... Let me see him. I don't care, I'll do what you want, I don't care just... Let me see Dean."

Sam just stared at his dad for a moment before he reached out and gently touched his shoulder. John’s head snapped up as a light surrounded him, a blissful expression appearing on his face as Sam broke Hell's claim on him, before the terror took over once more.

"No, you can't!" John shouted, trying to dislodge Sam's hand on him, trying to step forward. "You can't do this! I've broken! Just let me go to him! Just..." his eyes cleared up for a moment as he stared and truly saw Sam. "Sammy?" He whispered before he disappeared into a ball of a pure soul, ascending upwards out of Hell.

Sam watched as it happened, his heart thundering in his ears. Once he felt his dad leave Hell he turned and started walking again, intent on finding another soul thrown into Hell.

But it didn't make sense. The whole thing, none of it made sense.

* * *

Sam couldn’t breathe, just staring down at the soul in front of him. He knew exactly who he was looking at.

The problem was...it didn’t make sense.

It didn’t make sense.

It made absolutely no sense.

The soul in front of him was flickering in and out of its image, the fear was practically tangible, and he could almost taste it. If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear small whimpers escaping the soul as well.

Sam felt his legs shake, he couldn’t keep standing, all of his strength was gone, and he fell to his knees, small breaths of air escaping him.

Even on his knees he towered over the soul, something that was putting it on edge more and more. For what felt like the first time in forever Sam felt tears gathering in his eyes.

Dean was staring up at him, innocent despite the obvious torture he had endured. His form flickered again, like a ghost unable to keep its shape, but it stubbornly remained.

“Do... Do you...” The choked words barely escaped him, his entire body shaking as he tried to compose himself; he was far beyond it, but at the very least, he had to try to speak. “Do you... Do you know... Do you know who I am?” He finally managed to get out.

Dean was staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Slowly he moved closer to Sam, not breaking eye contact. Sam didn’t dare move, barely dared to breathe, as Dean came close enough to reach out and gently touch his face.

He could feel the blood on Dean's hands, his own blood no doubt. He could feel just how hard Dean had tried to keep his form. Hell was nothing more than what you could force yourself to imagine after all, and in that he could feel just how many times Dean’s fingers had been broken, unable to heal properly.

With that simple touch he could feel just how deep, just how hard the demons had dug their claws into him and it made him choke more, barely able to breathe, barely able to think. Hands shaking hard he managed to bring them up to gently hold onto Dean's hands that were on his face.

“Do you know who I am?” He whispered, not daring to speak any louder, whether for his sake or Dean’s, he wasn’t sure.

He felt Dean swallow more than he saw it, tilting his head to the side as he stared at Sam.

“You’re Sammy,” Dean whispered, looking up at him. “You’re Sammy, my little brother.”

He couldn’t even make a noise, feeling the tears well up in his eyes. He nodded once before shaking his head, gasping out as he tried to speak.

“Yeah. I’m Sammy,” he choked out. “I’m Sammy.”

“Daddy said that it was bad up there, that you were all... All alone,” Dean managed to get out. “You were... All alone and... It's okay. I’m here now.”

The words struck him cold and hard, taking every last bit that he had left.

Dean had been here, in Hell, for all of these years. Being tortured, being taken apart, until the fact that he was still together like this was a damn miracle.

And he was comforting Sam.

Sam’s hands were shaking as he brought them up and wrapped them around Dean, curling himself around his brother as much as he could. As if that could make up for all the years he had been alone, as if he could even possibly protect him from anymore harm. One hand went to the back of Dean's head, snagging his fingers in his short hair as he held him as close as he could.

Sobs escaped him as he held his brother, his _younger_ brother, as close to him as he could. “I’m-”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said first, looking up at Sam with those wide eyes, no longer scared but still afraid. “I‘m sorry, Sammy. I was here and... Mama always said that I was supposed to look after you but…” He shuddered and gripped at Sam once more.

“But I was here and... I couldn’t go to you. But you’re here, and it's okay.” He smiled, form solidifying as he looked up at him. “I’m here and you’re here. We’re together. We’re together Sammy.”

* * *

Sam felt like he couldn't breathe. He could barely feel Ruby's hand in his or her voice telling him something. Nothing she could tell him was important anymore. None of it was important.

None of it made any difference; nothing he had done had ever meant anything.

Not. A. Single. Thing.

Because it all amounted to nothing. All his sacrifices, everything he had given up, the people he had lost, the family members that were taken from him.

His mother, his brother, his father. All of them had been taken; all of them had died for this, for all of this.

His older brother, older only by birth order, never having the chance to grow up. He had died as a child and left Sam without a brother.

He had died as a child going back into a burning house to try to help, he wasn't sure what Dean had been thinking at that moment but he knew his brother, he knew just how good that soul had been, he had most likely wanted to go back to help their parents too.

And had died as a result. He had burned to death with their mother in hellfire and, regardless of how noble and good his intentions were, hellfire was damnation in its purest form.

And once he had died he had been taken to hell, just like their mom, where he had remained for years and years.

Over twenty years to be exact.

And a year on earth meant a hundred years in hell.

An innocent soul, an innocent child, just a simple, sweet, innocent __child.

Taken to hell.

Tortured.

Scarred.

Destroyed over and over and over again until it was a miracle that anything remained.

All he could hear was blood rushing in his ears, the pounding under his feet, a coursing of something that felt alive curling around him. His heart was beating faster and his hands were shaking, he could barely breathe and... And...

He moved. He started to walk, hand slipping out of Ruby's hand. He started to walk, uncaring of where he was going but at the same time, he could feel the ground cracking and moving around him, leading him where he needed to go.

It didn't matter where he ended up, he was going in the right direction, he was going the right way. With each step he took he could feel something happening, something inside of him breaking yet pulsating in time with his steps.

He didn't fight the pull; he didn't try to think about anything else. It was hypnotizing, it was magnetic, it was something that he didn't want to ignore anymore. He didn't want to stop; he let his body move, uncertain of the direction yet at the same time... It felt right to go wherever he was going.

With every step he took, the less he could see, the less he could hear, he couldn't feel anything other than the pulse under his feet and the steady movement of his limbs.

It almost sounded like drumming. Drumming in the distance as countless eyes watched him. Maybe he even felt like they were grabbing at him but the touches, if they existed, disappeared as if they were dragged off.

The longer he walked, the more intense the pulsations coursing through him, the harder it became to walk but he persisted, he kept walking, he kept moving.

He didn't have any other option.

As he went further in, the harder it got to breathe. Sulfur was surrounding him, engulfing him until it was inside of him, curling in deep and dangerous.

And promising.

It was a dangerous swallow of promise, of vengeance, of something that he couldn't name but knew down to the marrow of his bones that he wanted.

The price to be paid was expensive; it was worth more than his soul, more than his being, more than anything that he could ever hope to pay.

But it was so worth it in the end.

He was done sacrificing. He was done losing everything. He was done being kicked down again and again and again.

It was time to take back what he had lost. It was time to get what he deserved and if he had to take it with force, with blood, with pain?

So let it be.

* * *

Castiel looked over the burned remains of the earth, saddened and drained. His damaged wings were hanging low enough that they dragged along the ground.

Everything around him was destroyed, the only thing in its prime was Hell but it had spilled over onto the earth and up to Heaven, dragging it down. All the souls' doors were opened and emptied, brought into Hell to be turned into demons. The lucky few were destroyed and he could only hope that they were either in Purgatory or the Empty.

Although from the whispers he heard from demons, Purgatory was next. There was no other realm to be taken over after all.

Slowly he walked through the dilapidated buildings, seeing his brothers and sisters' bodies on the ground. The charred remains of their wings blended with the dirt to the point that he could barely make them out. For every few angels there was one dead demon and although it meant that his brethren had gone out fighting, it didn’t matter. It didn’t amount to anything in the endgame.

He wasn't sure why he was still alive, whether it meant something or was simply due to a luck that didn't exist. He strained to hear any hint of another angel's mind but wasn't surprised when there was no answer.

It would seem that he was completely alone, the last angel left alive in this universe.

He walked without purpose; the only sound was his footsteps and the gravel under his feet. When he ended up in front of the destroyed remains of what used to be a church, he stared at it for a few moments before he entered.

The stained glass were all broken, letting whatever light from outside come through. He walked until he got to the front, staring at what used to be the crucifix. Slowly he moved to sit in the pew, leaning back against the wood, just... Staring at the front.

He was tired. He was so, so tired. He had fought in this war enough, Naomi's words and promises filling his ears and mind that they would win because that's how it was supposed to be. That's how it was Written, and it is His Will to be done.

Fulfilling an absent God, an absent father, a dead belief in how the world should have ended.

But none of it came to pass. Nothing happened as was Written. They had fought for no reason other than it was told to them eons ago by a being that had deserted them.

A being that had been deaf to their cries and their pleas, begging for help and for a purpose.

That's all they had ever wanted, a purpose. Angels weren't created to be leaders, that fell to the archangels, but even they were lost. Lost and fumbling for the right answers and when they hadn’t had it, they’d resorted back to what had been told to them before Creation even existed.

They’d thought they were doing the right thing, they’d thought they were following orders and doing what was meant to be done.

Blind loyalty led them to this point, led _him_ to this point. Alone, weakened, and utterly, completely defeated.

He had nothing left. There were no other angels. He was running on borrowed Grace that he could feel dissipating with each minute that passed. He wasn't sure what was going to happen once it ran out. Maybe he'd become human and be able to die with the beings he had tried to protect.

Maybe the rest of the grace would burn him into oblivion so that he could join the others in the Empty.

But regardless of what was going to happen, he would remain here. In the remains of the church and wait. He'd sit and wait and whatever happened, would happen.

He had made his peace with it, no matter what lay ahead.

He only really had one last thing he could do, there was nothing else, and for the sake of... Something, he was willing to try it.

Taking a deep breath- it was something he'd seen human’s do- he bowed his head and clasped his hands on his lap. His fingers clenched tightly together and he forced himself to relax them.

The angel prayed.

"I don't even know if you're hearing this, or if you even care," he prayed. "But... We are done for. All the angels are dead and destroyed. Humanity is destroyed. Demons rule the realms now and..." He paused.

"I don't know why I am speaking to you, you don't care about us. You don't care about what happened. You don't care at all," he continued. "Damn me if you wish, condemn me to a worse fate, I dare you to." He closed his eyes. "Nothing could be crueler than the existence that this has been."

He gave it a moment, waiting to see if anything would happen, if he would be struck down for his blasphemy and hearsay.

Nothing happened and he wished he could say that he was surprised.

"It was prophesied that Michael and Lucifer would bring the world to their knees in the one true battle, wearing their respective Vessels. Humanity would suffer a great loss but they would remain and grow once more," Castiel continued. "None of that came true."

"Dean Winchester, the true Vessel of Michael was burned by hellfire along with his mother as a child, and as a result Hell claimed both him and Mary Winchester. Only the true Vessel of Lucifer remained, Sam Winchester. And there was no war to be fought when there was only one," Castiel continued. "The father was attempted to be used by Michael but the man had made a demon deal and Michael found him... Undesirable, as a result and refused to have the man as his Vessel. He shared that with Lucifer, too much pride and vanity. You created them from the same molecules after all."

"Sam Winchester found his entire family in hell; mother, brother, father," Castiel said, reopening his eyes and bringing his head up to look at the front once more. "It was more than enough to drive the human to the ends, it was more than enough to make him eagerly wish for destruction and despair in the world that had damned everyone in his life."

He still remembered the scream, a terror and pain filled scream, a scream shook hell to its core and instilled fear into the angels despite how they would deny such a thing.

"The Boy King came to his throne and the demons fell to their knees in adoration,” Castiel told the empty room. "And now... All is at an end."

"The realms are burning into ashes, nothing is going to remain. Every single last thing you created is being undone and yet you remain distant and you refuse to come back," Castiel continued. "Sam Winchester, full of grief, full of anger, full of hatred, has destroyed it all in ways unimaginable. I remember watching him as a child, he used to pray. To you. To us. And all have abandoned him."

"What a despicable father you are," Castiel said softly. "You let your children die. You let your Creation die. You abandoned us for no reason. We begged for your return and you scorned us. I almost wish that the Boy King could destroy you as well."

He could hear the howls of the hellhounds in the distance, unsure if they were coming for him or something else. It didn't matter regardless, if they came to him he wouldn't fight, he didn't have the strength or the desire to do so no matter what.

How could this have been prevented? Which would be the part of the past that should be changed so that this never happened? What change would be necessary?

Sam Winchester's failing grace had been seeing his family in hell. The reason he had gone to hell was because his father had made the deal to save his life with Azazel and as a result had been taken as per the usual method of a demon deal.

Maybe the change that needed to be made was preventing the need of a deal? If Sam hadn't gotten so hurt hunting the demon John Winchester would never have made the deal and therefore Sam would never have gone down to hell to find the others.

But if John Winchester had been alive would that have prevented Sam from fraternizing with the demon Ruby? It was common knowledge for the demons that the souls of Mary and Dean Winchester were in Hell. It was rare for an innocent soul to be taken to Hell, more so when it was the soul of a child.

Ruby would have let the information slip at some point, would have let Sam know and he was sure that the results would be the same.

Then perhaps the time that the mother and brother had been killed. He knew the mother had been a hunter and would have known the demon that had come to visit Sam in the nursery that night. Perhaps she wouldn't have allowed the two children to be taken on hunts as a result of her own experiences leading to Sam being unprepared to face Azazel.

Sam would have been taken by Azazel on his twenty third birthday to fight the others and would either have lost his life or won against others leading to his downfall one way or another. Either way, his soul would have gone to hell and trained properly or Azazel would have manipulated him enough to get the Boy King that he was grooming the entire time.

So maybe something else, but _what_? What else could have been changed for this reality to be subsided? If John Winchester being alive had no meaning, if the mother and brother being alive had no meaning, what would?

There were no others that had such an effect on Sam. There was nothing else that would ground him, stop him, give him hope and give him a reason not to take the throne.

Maybe... The brother, and _only_ the brother, not including the mother. With the mother dead by Azazel's hands, it would push the father into hunting, bringing his two sons as well. Both of them would be raised together, no connections to other people.

In the beginning, Castiel knew, Michael and Lucifer had been the first pair of brothers, the ones with utmost loyalty to one another, needing none but the other. They had been inseparable and it took the Word and the Will of God for Michael to betray Lucifer and cast him out.

Never to be the same again afterwards.

Perhaps if it had been Sam and Dean alone, their father hunting, their mother dead, they would create that same relationship, only needing the other. Creating the same connection that Michael and Lucifer had; after all, they were meant to be their perfect Vessels and everything was supposed to have mirrored the first pair of brothers as well.

The hellhounds sounded like they were getting closer. Castiel moved to take his vessel’s coat off, folding it and putting it to the side. He reached into his pocket and took his angel blade out as well- maybe it was his imagination but the metal seemed to have dulled in color and shine.

He placed the blade on top of his coat carefully and sat back down on the pew, lost in thought.

He knew that there was no point in imagining the impossible, he couldn't change the past, and he couldn't turn back time. No angel had that power, not even the archangels.

But it couldn't hurt to think of what could have been.

How would the brothers' future have turned out? Would they have followed the path decided for them, to be the Vessels of Michael and Lucifer and allow the two to have their predestined fight?

Or would they have found a way to avoid that? Would their love for one another break destiny and refuse what had been set in stone before humanity existed?

He liked to believe that, maybe, they could. It was against the orders and beliefs of heaven to think so but it didn't matter, there was no one left to punish him for his insubordination anymore.

Maybe if it could be, the brothers would do what Michael and Lucifer hadn't, they would choose one another and damn the consequences.

But that was not how this story turned out. This story was ending with the world burning, the realms crashing, and everyone dead.

He could hear the heavy sounds of paws hitting the ground, sulfur growing in the air, and finally the doors were crashed open as the hellhounds rushed into the church, running over one another as they tried to reach him. Hallowed ground was no longer enough to stop them.

Cas didn't move, didn't fight back, didn't do a single thing as they ran towards him. It no longer mattered.

As the hounds tore into him, the pain he ignored, the teeth he ignored, he welcomed the end.

And with his last breath, he cursed his father one last time.

* * *

A tap of fingers against the desk, the nails hitting the wood. In the other hand is a drink that is being swirled around, the ice cubes hitting one another softly.

Moving the mouse up, rereading the entry with a frown. Getting to one part in the middle, the passage is deleted and rewritten before being paused. A shake of the head.

"Nah, that’s not interesting," is muttered, leaning back in the chair. The glasses are taken off to rub at the eyes, sticking the frame of the glasses between teeth to chew on the metal for a moment. Making a face at the taste, putting the glasses back on.

The story is a good one, all of them are, but there is something that could be changed. Something that could be different. Something that could make it a lot better than it is.

The writing is only going to get better; of course, there is no other option, no possibility of getting worse. After all, how could something be worse when it is always perfect?

But it wouldn't be the first time a draft is rewritten, perfection takes time after all, it took multiple tries to create the universe after his sister- his other half- destroyed the one he had been working on in jealousy.

The Castiel thing is what’s wrong. Displeasure is clear as the fingers tap harder, the blasphemy and the utter showboating of it all. Castiel is of the lowest ranks of angels and yet he is criticizing the Work? As if he could ever come close to understanding just how perfect a story could be.

Everyone's a critic, everyone thinks that their story is better than others and they all believe that they could write a better one than the perfect one already being written.

Those last thoughts are the most bothersome because they completely change the story; if that happens then the story wouldn't be a good one anymore. It wouldn't be the story that was written and perfected over time.

But Castiel thinks he knows better? Castiel thinks that his writings could make a better story? Fine, he'd allow it and watch it burn. Nothing would change the end of his story and that is where the perfection truly is, the ending that is inevitable. With everything being destroyed; nothing can going to change that.

It would either be Michael and Lucifer’s fight or one of the brothers destroying the world, but one way or another, everything will destroyed, nothing will be saved. That is always the perfect ending.

But this is about a lesson, this is about Castiel thinking he knows better and he needs to be taught that it doesn’t matter what changes, it would happen as is already written.

Fingers set back onto the keyboard, Ctrl+A is pressed along with Backspace.

The empty screen blinks and knuckles are cracked before the typing renews, rewriting the beginning.

* * *

“Take your brother outside as fast as you can, don’t look back.” John said, his voice steady despite the fear and the panic that he felt rising inside of him. “Now Dean, go!”

Dean didn’t waste another moment, holding onto his brother as tight as he could as he rushed down the stairs and out of the house, his bare feet hitting the cold porch and then the wet grass. Turning back to the door he coughed and held onto Sammy tightly, waiting and praying for their mommy and daddy to come outside as well.

When neither of them appeared, he hesitated but then held Sammy close, looking up at their home and the window where the fire seemed to be the brightest, coming from Sammy's nursery.

He held his brother tighter to him, hands curled into the blanket. “It's okay Sammy,” he whispered, shivering slightly in the cold, toes curling into the wet grass. “It's gonna be okay.”

He almost felt like crying when daddy came out of the house, stumbling and coughing, smoke following him. Daddy moved fast, grabbing the both of them and holding them close as he tried to get them far away from the house as an explosion rocked through it, shaking the ground.

Daddy remained standing, just holding onto them, and Dean clung hard to him, curling around him and trying to keep his grip on Sammy as well.

There were other people around them but Dean paid no attention to them, focused on leaning into daddy’s chest and holding onto Sammy's hand. Sammy wasn't crying anymore, just staring around them and then looking at Dean, up at daddy, but back at Dean once again.

He could hear daddy speaking, saying something, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered right now other than Sammy.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy," he whispered again, holding onto his little brother’s hand as they stared at one another. "It's all gonna be okay."

**Author's Note:**

> Holy crap I'm done! This fic took so much out of me and even then I wasn't able to put everything that I wanted into it. But it's done and I hope you guys like it. 
> 
> First off, a big, BIG, thank you to my lovely artist kirathehyrulian (tumblr) who not only made amazing art of this fic but also put up with my nonsense with writing the fic. Here is the link to their art: https://kirathehyrulian.tumblr.com/post/190678944909/sam-winchester-big-bang-2019-2020-ill-burn-the
> 
> Please go and give them love! The art is beautiful and I have no words for how much I love the art and them for all the hard work they did.
> 
> Second off, another big thank you to bad-days-and-beautiful-nights (tumblr)/KassandraScarlett (ao3) for willing to be my (very last minute) beta and looking it over and helping me to make it not a big a mess that it would've been without their help. Thank you!
> 
> I may write alternative scenes, deleted scenes, or other possible things to this fic mainly because I didn't have time/patience to write out the rest of what I wanted. But otherwise, this fic is done. 
> 
> Thank you everyone and see you at the next Sam Winchester Big Bang 2020-2021!
> 
> I do not own Supernatural.


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